SPASIBA, MY LOVELY

by William Thomas

“Spasiba, my lovely.” 

Breath puffing in  

Cartoonish balloons

He reaches up

With both gloved hands

To caress her smooth flanks. 

Does she tremble

At his touch?

Marveling at the unquenchable fires 

About to awaken within,

Sergey Karakayev 

Softly croons… 

“Soon you will shudder

With fiery passion. 

And the world will marvel 

At your multiple climaxes this night.”

Towering above him

In the “cabbage ravine” at 

Kapustin Bar’s

4th Missile Test Range,

Floodlit like A Kosmotras celebrity,

The gleaming two-stage Oreshnik 

Makes no reply.

Footsteps crunch permafrost,

Doppler nearer…

Stop close behind.

“Sergey, stop molesting 

My rocket.

”Without turning —  

“She is my creation, too, Alexander.”

Forgetting his absent youth,

Sergey Karakayev 

Jumps down 

From the six-axle 

TEL launcher,

Slips badly — 

Just time to think, 

Durak!

Quicker than six spears

Of light lancing earthwards

Through the Dubrovnik 

Overcast, 

The older man grabs,

Steadies the Director General, 

Nodding towards their Supreme Commander’s 

Next big surprise.    

“So I suppose

We must share 

Her considerable attributes

With Grigoryevich,

Degtyar, 

And the others.”

“Da,” Sergey agrees. 

“And Kyiv’s cocaine clown besides.”

“Perhaps NATO will stow their toys

And think hard 

Before bothering the 67th GRAU In Bryansk, 

Or another local headquarters In Kursk again,” 

Alexander Serkin muses, adding,

“Now that we are at war.”

Siren SHRIEKS!

3 prolonged distant blasts. 

Attack alert?

Another incoming drone strike?

Will 20 fresh scorch marks

Mark this Cold War atomic 

Test site In Astrakhan Oblast?

But no, they realize at once.

Not with newly invisible, 

Ferociously cracking electronic beams 

Blinding drones and inquisitive satellites 

To the nighttime presence 

Of Putin’s new mistress,

Who received his nod 

Only last June.

It is the pre-launch warning —

Feeble electronic analog 

To the blood-chilling 

Ram’s horn sounded

By fierce Khazars, 

The Cumania, 

And the Mongol-Tatar’s 

Golden Horde.

Serkin is the first to recover

From this contagious vision.

“Come, tovarisch.

It is time to sip 

Hot sweet tea

And observe her magnificent paroxysms

From a warmer vantage

Than this.”

“Da, Alexander. 

Will solid-fuel propellent

Even ignite at minus 6 Centigrade?” 

Both men laugh. 

As if Altai

Does not know its business.

“Snow next week,”

The Kosmotras head observes.

“Then let us pray to the Virgin

That we are this night spared 

Another Nedelin Catastrophe.”

“Or FPV strike,” Serkin supplies.

“Have the warnings been given?”

“Four hours ago. Hopefully, 

The evacuation is complete.”

“More than hope will be required,

Commander,

To spare the souls of those who seek 

To destroy this land 

Of poets and czars.”

“May we be spared, as well, Sergey. 

The West will never forgive us

This success.”

“If it is even acknowledged!”

The commander of Russia's 

Strategic Rocket Forces

Waves past the indifferent stars.

“Who could imagine — 

800 kilometers, 

15 minutes 

To Dnipro!”

Overhead, the keening night

Dreams of Mach 11,

A hurtling Hazel Tree’s

2000°C, V-shaped shockwave

Cloaking the missile from two-dozen 

Vainly questing NATO radars.  Both men turn

At a transmission’s whine.

The covered jeep 

Approaches fast,

Headlights jouncing crazily 

Over uneven tundra shortcut.

Brakes skids stops with a squall 

Of frozen discs.

Half-glimpsed driver salutes 

From behind frosted glass.

“Come,” Sergey bades.

Doors slam,

Gears clash.

Lurching forward, 

The vehicle turns,

Accelerating 

Towards a low bunker

300 meters distant.

Shouting, 

Bumping shoulders,

Holding fast… 

“After this, Sergey,

Nothing will be the same.

”Behind them,

The silent rocket

Steams.

*Spasiba means "thank you" in Russian

Photo Credits:

Oreshnik hypersonic missile on launch trailer -zeenews.india.com

Oreshnik's multiple warheads arrive on weapons factory in Ukraine  -twz.com